


SOS (Overboard)

by ProsperDemeter



Series: Help I'm Alive [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Art, Artist Harry Osborn, Bisexual Peter Parker, Domestic, Established Relationship, F/F, Found Family, French!Harry, Gay Harry Osborn, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, May Parker is the best, Pepper Potts is a great mom, a scarily accurate look at healing after trauma, consequences of previous actions, listen they love each other so much
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:54:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24739585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProsperDemeter/pseuds/ProsperDemeter
Summary: "Peter adored Doctor Tolliver - he was one of the most brilliant minds in atomic research and, while Peter wasn’t exactly in his field of study, he more than happily took on biochemical interns to work on his projects. He was working with a project that would one day revolutionize the way prosthetics worked - if you could implant a microchip to the cerebral cortex then, theoretically, the prosthetic could be controlled just like biological limbs.... still, Peter couldn’t help but notice the way Harry hesitated to reach out and shake his hand."
Relationships: Harley Keener & Peter Parker, Harley Keener/Marco (original character), Harry Osborn & Peter Parker & Gwen Stacy & Mary Jane Watson, Harry Osborn/Peter Parker, Michelle Jones & Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones/Gwen Stacy, Pepper Potts & Harry Osborn & Morgan Stark
Series: Help I'm Alive [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1788907
Comments: 58
Kudos: 45





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> The promised part two! Our boys are back and trying so hard to be happy! To everyone that read Under the Covers thank you! To everyone just starting out here - there ARE things in that happened in Under the Covers that you need to know in order to fully understand what's happening here so, if you feel comfortable, slide on over and give it a quick skim through.
> 
> Title inspiration is from the song SOS (Overboard) by Joseph.

The thing was, Peter was  _ horrible _ at keeping a schedule. 

He always  _ had _ been. It was his greatest flaw - Peter would be late to his own funeral one day. 

It wasn’t usually a problem - everyone close to him knew not to expect him to be on time. May had purposely started telling him things were happening hours earlier so that he would end up on time after he inevitably got distracted on his way over. 

It worked until it didn’t. 

Peter didn’t  _ want _ to be late - he had  _ promised _ he wouldn’t be late and Harry had laughed into his morning coffee.  _ Okay _ he had said with that  _ voice _ that told Peter that he didn’t believe him, pressed a kiss to the corner of Peter’s mouth, and waved goodbye to Harley on his way out of their shared apartment. “You’re so screwed.” Harley had told him and Peter had considered the consequences of punching him before leaving himself for his own classes. 

And he had been doing  _ so good _ ! Peter had left classes on time, had showered and shaved and headed out of the apartment with his good pants and dress shirt slung over his arm to pick up May and…. 

Well… and then Sandman had attacked Times Square and Peter  _ had _ to help even if he didn’t  _ want to _ and now he was two hours late to Harry’s first gallery opening and felt, honestly, like the worst boyfriend in the world. 

“I’m so sorry,” Peter rushed to get out, even as May reached around him to fix his collar with a gentle smile. She had caught a ride over with Happy when Peter failed to arrive after twenty minutes and had shot him a text to say that she had locked up the apartment. He had stopped at May’s apartment only to change, swung the rest of the way over to the gallery with his mask on, and arrived just in time for it to almost be over. Pepper was inside with Morgan - Peter  _ knew _ that because Harry had sent him a selfie posed with the women when it became stupidly obvious that  _ if _ Peter made it then it would be incredibly late. Ned was there too, as was Harley and Marco and Gwen (Peter’s lab partner and MJ’s girlfriend) and Mary Jane (Harry’s friend from his art history class). Peter wondered which one of them went as Harry’s date and, wasn’t shocked at all, when he saw that it was Marco hanging off his arm. 

Marco was taller than both of them yet shorter than Harley by a few inches, slim in bright colored chinos and an even brighter bowtie and suspenders. His dark hair matched Harry’s but curled around his ears where Harry’s was stick straight. He was stupidly handsome and Peter felt something close to jealousy shoot up from the pit of his stomach. “How has it been going?” Peter asked, desperately, and waved when Harley - a wine glass dangling from his fingertips - waved at him from the table he was sharing with Gwen and Mary Jane. 

“Pretty good, I think.” May knew just as much about galleries as Peter’s did which was borderline nothing. “Harry’s stuff is really good.” 

It  _ was _ really good. Peter had seen him paint most of his work - had watched his paintbrush dance over canvas and  _ distracted  _ him more than once but seeing an entire hallway of Harry’s work was… something Peter had only ever dreamed of. Peter shot May a smile that, perhaps, gave him away because she brushed the hair from his face and pressed a kiss against his cheek. “I’m going to go find him.” 

“You  _ do _ owe him an apology.” 

Peter groaned. “I know.” 

Harry wasn’t far away - Marco hadn’t dragged him away from the conversation he was having with Pepper and Rhodey but, instead, looked painfully bored and said something that had Harry choking on his drink when he caught sight of Peter. 

Peter had meant to bring flowers - had meant to be  _ a lot  _ of things for that night - but had forgotten completely in his frantic rush to get over to the gallery before it closed down for the night. He felt horribly under dressed even if he  _ was _ in chinos and a dress shirt. He had forgotten dress shoes and, instead, was wearing his worn and muddy converse. Harry, however, looked as immaculate as he always did - and Peter had seen him in various stages of undress. In fact, Peter had seen him in  _ every _ stage of undress and each one looked as perfect as the last. Even coming undone Harry looked perfect. 

_ Disgusting _ , MJ called them.  _ Adorable _ , Gwen and Mary Jane said. 

Peter forgot what everyone else said about them when Harry’s blue - ocean water blue - eyes crashed into his own. It was the first time in years that Harry didn’t have any paint on his skin but Peter didn’t feel any churn of regret over that in his stomach. They had come so far since they had started out.  _ Harry _ had come so far. It wasn’t perfect -  _ nothing  _ about what happened years ago was okay and they had stopped expecting that it would be - but it was  _ better _ . Harry smiled and Peter couldn’t help smiling back, even if it was sheepishly. 

He was apologizing before Harry even made it in front of him. 

Up close Peter could see the freckles that painted his face and the way his black hair fell gently across the scar he had gotten at seventeen and hid it, for the most part, from view. It was an artful attempt to hide the physical realities of the past from the sharks that were bound to be floating in the waters of the gallery opening but Peter had told Harry many times before that anyone that could look at him and see the word  _ damaged _ were purely fundamentally broken. “Harry, I’m so  _ sorry _ .” He must have said it ten times in a total of five minutes but Harry still just smiled that smile he saved just for Peter (it curled up at the corners and pulled at his slightly crooked nose and had  _ dimples _ in the corners of his cheeks) and rolled his eyes. 

“Why? You won me twenty bucks.” 

“You bet  _ against me _ ?” 

“ _ No _ ,” Harry raised an eyebrow, squeezed his hand in his own and smirked. “I bet you wouldn’t miss the whole event.  _ Harley _ bet against you.” 

Peter glared at their roommate who only wiggled his fingers and winked at them while looking more than a little bit upset over the idea of having lost the bet. “What did he lose?” Because Peter  _ knew _ that Harley wouldn’t have just bet twenty dollars, even if Harry would only take that from him. 

“Any chance of getting Marco’s number.” Harry had to lean up to kiss Peter’s cheek and Peter shivered, just a little, at the brush of his lips. Years. It had been  _ years _ and Peter’s heart still beat a little it faster whenever Harry’s lips touched his skin. Peter hoped it never went away. 

“I’m so proud of you.” Peter spoke lowly into Harry’s ear, bending down just a little so that his breath brushed over the shell of skin and kissing the back of his knuckles gently. Harry’s cheeks flushed and it was probably the most adorable thing Peter had ever seen until Morgan collided with his legs. 

Her dress matched Harry’s shirt, watermelon pink with a bright blue bow around her waist and she hugged Peter tighter than he thought an eight year old should be able to and squealed even in the quiet din of soft voices when he swung her up. “Hey there, Morgan.” 

“I thought you were going to miss it!” The problem with kids was that they had no filter and she kicked her legs against Peter’s stomach until he put her back down on the ground. “Harry was getting sad.” 

It went directly against what Harry had just told Peter before and his blush, this time, was more of embarrassment than attraction. He mused Morgan’s curls softly and only glared down at her a little while she leaned against the front of his legs. “You’re terrible at keeping secrets, Magoo.” 

“Being sad shouldn’t be a secret.” She stuck out her tongue at him but didn’t move to leave. Harry was her favorite person - or at least the homework assignment Pepper had hanging on the refrigerator boldly stated - and it was obvious to Peter how much she meant to him. Harry had never had anything close to a stable family life - Norman Osborn was probably the worst parent imaginable in Peter’s eyes and Elizabeth Osborn wasn’t much better. Pepper and Morgan took to him quicker than anyone had expected and, just a year previous, Harry had legally changed his name to match theirs. Gone was the painful Osborn legacy and in was the happier, more well meaning Stark one. 

That wasn’t to say that things were anywhere close to  _ perfect _ . Harry still flinched at loud voices, still hid things to avoid any form of confrontation and Peter knew it was something that he shouldn’t be letting slide as often as he was. But it was  _ easy _ , wasn’t it? To believe that their relationship was as perfect as the world viewed it as. Morgan’s words, carelessly childish and blunt as they were, were a stark and painful reminder that Peter had messed up. The gallery was important to Harry - for years he had been told that art was something he would never be able to do and here he was,  _ doing it _ . Harry had been excited enough about it that he hadn’t stopped  _ talking _ about it for months. It was split between five artists in his class but that was a class of three hundred and he was the only sophomore to be featured. 

Peter looked around the room and noticed with fresh eyes that Harry had invited everyone he cared about to attend - May was talking to Pepper and Rhodey, Morgan pulling Harry to show him her  _ favorite _ painting, Harley was bent over the table trying to steal his phone back from a teasing Marco, Gwen was taking a selfie with Mary Jane and Ned and…  _ Peter _ had been late. Shame clawed at his stomach. Harry was  _ always _ on time. He was  _ always _ there when Peter needed him - or  _ wanted _ \- him and Peter had been late to what was probably the one thing Harry had actually wanted him to be present for. 

Harry wouldn’t accept an apology, Peter knew that. As far as Harry knew he had already waved off Peter’s excuse with a simple  _ it’s okay _ and Peter should simply accept it. Still, it didn’t stop him from feeling horrible about it. Peter followed after Harry and Morgan at a more subdued pace, his arm firm around Harry’s waist and vowed that, next time, he would be  _ early _ .

* * *

Empire University was on the outskirts of Manhattan and the brick and glass buildings gleamed in the New York City sunlight. Peter had known he was going to attend Empire ever since his Freshman year of high school - their biochemistry department was the best in the country and boasted some of the most amazing scientists of their generation. Harry had chosen to go there as well, their art program was good and they boasted a quickly excelling language program that had students from all over the world applying. Harley went for engineering with a minor in business and, the three of them, shared a spacious apartment just four blocks away. 

Harry paid for most of the expenses, and Peter tried not to let it bother him. Harley was less vocal about the aggravation and, because of that, seemed to have taken over cleaning and repair as his way of paying him back. Their apartment was a three bedroom but they only bothered to use two - Peter and Harry sharing, Harley getting his own, and the third one being repurposed into a workshop and studio depending on which one of them needed it. It was big, much fancier than any other apartment that their classmates boasted about having, and equipped with only the best security system money could buy. 

Regardless of sharing an apartment  _ and _ going to the same school, though, it seemed almost like they were constantly missing one another. Harley had mostly evening classes and Peter mostly morning, and  _ Harry _ spent most of the day splitting his time between school, the gallery, and work. Peter had late afternoon labs and  _ then _ patrol most nights so, really, the only time they got  _ alone _ was either planned, spontaneous, or when Peter crawled in through the bedroom window at three in the morning trying not to wake Harry up. 

_ This _ time, it was spontaneous. 

Typically Harry wasn’t the spontaneous one of the two of them. He liked things planned out meticulously - schedules checked, managed, and then checked again to make sure it conflicted with nothing else. The two of them led such busy lives and that wasn’t even taking into account the time they spent on school work. Peter was usually the one to drop by unannounced, a sandwich in his bag or just his lips asking for a partner to go on a walk. That wasn’t to say that Peter didn’t  _ enjoy _ when Harry broke the mold - he loved it, actually - but it did worry him. A little. Just the absolute smallest amount. 

Harry knocked on the door to the lab with the barest hint of a smile and Peter had recognized the beat of his heart before he had even stopped outside the room. Doctor Elliot Tolliver had looked up first, though, from where he was bent over a complicated line of code and seemed almost startled that someone had managed to sneak up on them. Peter tried not to think much on it - Elliot was skittish yet kind, incredibly enthusiastic about  _ anything _ scientific, and harmless. And, really, Harry was always a sight to see regardless of which last name he was sporting. He would be famous on his own merit soon, Peter was sure of it. 

He had a streak of blue on the corner of his jaw that day and the color was just a shade lighter than his eyes. With his forearms on display Peter could see the scar on his left arm that tore down the length. He was dressed casually compared to Peter’s lab attire, but still, somehow, looked as though he fit in the scientific environment. He was wearing his glasses which, Peter thought, only tipped Peter off  _ more _ that something was possibly wrong than anything else. Harry preferred to keep his contacts in when he was out in public - the media went crazy over any change in appearance and after the storm that changing his last name brought Harry tried to avoid stirring the waters more than he absolutely had to. 

Peter pushed up his goggles so they stuck at the top of his hairline and smiled as brightly as he could manage. “Hey!” If Elliot was shocked he didn’t show it, instead turning his attention back to his work and leaving Peter to greet their unusual guest. “Not that I’m complaining, but what brought this on.” Peter leaned in to press a kiss in greeting to his lips but Harry pulled back with a pointed look at the older Doctor. “Oh, uhm,” Peter whirled around an introduction ready on his lips. 

Elliot beat him to it, straightening out his glasses and lab coat and holding out a hand in front of his larger body. “Doctor Elliot Tolliver.” Peter  _ adored _ Doctor Tolliver - he was one of the most brilliant minds in atomic research and, while Peter wasn’t exactly in his field of study, he more than happily took on biochemical interns to work on his projects. He was working with a project that would one day revolutionize the way prosthetics worked - if you could implant a microchip to the cerebral cortex then, theoretically, the prosthetic could be controlled just like biological limbs. The research he employed was incredible and his mind worked in such a calculated and creative way that Peter couldn’t help being in awe of the man. He was around Peter’s height, which put him at least an inch taller than Harry, with brown graying hair and laugh lines that pulled at the corners of his eyes. He had a coffee stain on his white shirt and wore a  _ pocket protector _ but, still, Peter couldn’t help but notice the way Harry hesitated to reach out and shake his hand. 

“Nice to meet you.” He didn’t offer his name which, while odd, wasn’t exactly shocking. Harry was used to people knowing who he was - he was used to not knowing who he could trust with a name like his and so he rarely told anyone who he actually was unless they asked. Peter held no such qualms. 

Showing Harry off as his boyfriend was something that had never lost its novelty in all the years they had been together and he didn’t think it was going to happen any time soon. “Elliot, this is my boyfriend, Harry…” 

“Osborn.” Elliot smiled and it was all teeth. 

Harry cringed behind a carefully constructed mask and Peter winced. Most of the public knew of the changed name and respected the decision behind it (how could they  _ not _ ? The trial of Norman Osborn had been front page news and the reason behind it known regardless of Harry’s status as a minor). Slip ups happened every now and then and sometimes the slip of the wrong name was meant as a slight. Elliot smiled his toothy smile and an animalistic part of Peter wanted to shove his way between Harry and Doctor Tolliver and break whatever staring contest they were currently engaged in. “Stark.” Harry corrected with a newsworthy smile that softened only once he took his hand back and directed himself to Peter. “You worked through dinner again.” 

Peter looked at his watch and swore. “ _ Shit, _ ” he had been trying to be better about it. Ever since the gallery Peter had set multiple alarms for himself so that he  _ wouldn’t _ miss a second more than he needed yet, still, he always seemed to be minutes (or in this case,  _ hours _ ) late. “Whose turn was it to cook?” Peter asked it even if he knew the answer before Harry had to say it. 

_ His turn _ . Of course it had been his turn. Harry smirked just enough that his left dimple showed and shook a paper bag in front of Peter’s face. “You’re welcome, mister scientist.” 

Peter could have kissed him - Harry’s smirk, freckles, glasses, and the paint on his jaw were a dangerous combination that only got  _ more _ dangerous when he held up food between them. “ _ You _ are an angel.” Peter couldn’t help himself and Harry’s face felt warm under the palms of his hands. He kept it quick, even if the press of Harry’s lips against his wanted him to pull the other man in hard and tear him apart. They hadn’t had much time alone lately and Peter was sure it showed in how  _ desperate _ he was for even the brush of fingers against his side. “Thank you.” Harry’s eyes stayed closed for just a moment longer when Peter pulled back and he frowned and searched what he could see. 

“I was hoping,” Harry said with a deep, controlled breath and a quick glance at Elliot who hadn’t stepped far enough away yet to not be watching them. “That I could steal you for a bit.” 

“Steal him for the night, Harry.” Elliot waved before Peter could even think about asking for the time off. Harry’s mouth twitched uncomfortably. “I kept him late anyway.” 

To be fair, Peter thought,  _ he _ had been the one to lose track of time. He had meant to be back at the apartment at seven and it was nearing nine - the sun had set and Peter hadn’t even noticed. “Thanks, Doc.” Peter was shrugging out of his lab coat when he noticed  _ what _ had been off about Harry since he had arrived in the lab. Harry had yet to meet his gaze, his right hand was tapping out a rhythm against the thigh of his leg and he looked downright anxious. Peter hung up the white jacket on the designated hook in Doctor Tolliver’s office, threw his goggles in his bag and caught Harry around the wrist before he could turn away. “Hey,” He spoke low enough for only them to hear and crowded into his space. Harry’s body was tense but he leaned against Peter like he was the only thing keeping him upright. “You okay?” 

“Just been a day.” Harry said after a moment and pulled away slow enough that Peter could stop him if he wanted to. “ _ Eat _ ,” he pushed the bag into Peter’s chest and dragged him out of the office. “You haven’t eaten since lunch and you  _ know _ you need more calories than that.” 

Peter let himself be distracted and told himself that Doctor Tolliver had only happened to glance out the window when they walked by and that his gaze wasn’t cutting into the hand Harry had twisted in his belt loop. And, even if it was, Peter told himself, there was no malice there, only justifiable curiosity. 

After all, Peter was  _ always _ in shock over the fact that Harry was his. 


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Panic attack

“So,” Mary Jane squeezed his arm from where it sat comfortably between their bodies and weaved her way through the throng of bodies like the dancer she was. Harry followed her at a much more subdued pace - Mary Jane had the energy of a rabbit on crack and Harry had only had two sips of the strongest black tea they had in the school cafe. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, really. Peter hadn’t gotten back from patrol until close to four in the morning and he had tried so hard to be quiet when climbing through the window. Usually Harry would have let him believe he hadn’t roused him - even if he  _ knew _ Peter was scarily attuned to the sound of his breathing and noticed the moment it shifted from asleep to awake - but Peter had been swearing and bleeding from a shallow stab wound and Harry had nearly tripped over his phone wire on his mad scramble to catch Peter before he fell. “How was your night?” 

“Good,” Harry hummed around the lie. 

He hadn’t been able to fall back asleep after that but Peter hadn’t had any qualms. He had drifted off the moment he was bandaged, shirtless but still in the blue and red bottoms of the Spider-Man suit. Adrenaline had been slow to leave Harry’s body and, even walking through the halls he was much more  _ aware _ than he usually was at twelve in the afternoon. “I don’t accept one word answers, Harry.” Mary Jane shook him out of his thoughts and Harry had to blink to erase the lines that pain had drawn into Peter’s face just earlier that day. 

Harry was ridiculously thankful that he had met Mary Jane Watson a year previous. Not only was she energetic but she was  _ smart _ . She was majoring in both contemporary dance and journalism and had such a fire inside her for both of them that Harry envied. Lately, he hadn’t been able to dredge anything other than apathy up from the pit of his stomach. Mary Jane didn’t expect him to be anything other than himself - she accepted bad days as they were and celebrated the good ones with a soft smile and a cafeteria cookie. “I woke up at four and haven’t slept since.” Harry sipped at the hot tea and felt it burn at his throat. “I’m just tired.” 

Mary Jane frowned. “You didn’t have to come to class today, you know.” He shrugged but kept on the path. “Harry,” She tugged at his arm and when he looked at her the hair on her head framed her face like a bright orange halo. “You know you’re allowed to take a mental health day every now and then right?” 

“Mental health? Who’s that?” 

She laughed despite herself. “Don’t deflect with me, Mister Stark.” 

“Miss Watson, I’m afraid I don’t know  _ what _ you’re talking about.” 

“Sure you don’t.” Mary Jane didn’t push though, and instead rolled her green eyes continued on their slow shamble to their art history classroom. 

Harry  _ did _ know what she was talking about, though, and Mary Jane knew it.  _ Take care of your mental health before grades _ . It was the same speech Pepper gave him once a month, apparently noticing better than Harry did the toll classes were having on him. Harry didn’t even know if it was the classes that were tearing him apart or the  _ job _ . Pepper had kept Oscorp off his radar for as long as she could, but when shareholders threatened to buy it out and rumors started circulating that Pepper’s adoption of him was simply a ploy to gain control of the company Harry had to do  _ something _ . He wasn’t running the company, per say, but he  _ was _ keeping an eye on how things were running. 

Peter had been furious when he found out. He was adamant that it wasn’t  _ Harry’s _ responsibility to save his father’s company from crashing to the ground. Not after everything that he did. 

Harry didn’t know how to tell him that even with his name legally being Stark now that the Osborn legacy still weighed heavily on his shoulders and threatened to pull him down to the ground. He  _ also _ didn’t know how to tell Peter that the moment Harley got his degree the company was going right over to him.

It had been a joke, at first, when Harry had asked him to take over the company. The two of them had been at the very least tipsy and Peter had been out avoiding bullets all night long (it was televised too - Spider-Man swinging from skyscraper to skyscraper and fighting a giant  _ crocodile _ ). Harley had agreed but Harry didn’t think he  _ actually _ knew what he had been agreeing to until Harry had brought over the paperwork the next week. Officially, Harley was his assistant (much like Pepper had been Tony’s) but unofficially, he was training to take over the entire company under  _ both _ Harry and Pepper. 

Art history went by quick - Peter woke up in the middle of the class and texted Harry a quick thank you for the food he had left in the microwave for him - and Harry spent most of the class time struggling to keep his eyes open. He blinked and he was back home, wiping the blood off the alabaster of Peter’s stomach and trying to keep his hands steady. By the time he got home Peter’s skin would be healed with no evidence of the previous fight - the perks of accelerated healing. 

Harry knew the memories of receiving the injuries would never fade, though. Peter might act like they wouldn’t stay - he might toss his head back and laugh about how a simple robber thought he could win a fight against Spider-Man - but Harry had been woken up by his nightmares one too many times to not know how the long nights crime fighting affected him. Harry was lucky, he had Pepper to talk his worries over with. Peter… had no one really. He knew Rhodey had offered but Harry knew there was no way Peter would take him up on the genuine attempt to help. Peter barely accepted  _ his _ help and Harry was his boyfriend. 

Being a superhero was stressful. 

Being a superhero’s boyfriend was only slightly less. 

“Hey,” Mary Jane poked him with her ruler until he blinked over at her. She smiled soft (she really was beautiful - long red hair that curled at the bottom over her shoulders and soft green eyes - she reminded him of what he imagined Aphrodite would look like) and pointed to where Harry had been uselessly sketching Peter’s eyes for the past hour. “Marco and Gwen invited us to dinner.” 

Harry frowned and checked his phone again, startled to see the time as well as the ten messages he had inadvertently ignored. 

Perhaps he was more tired than he thought. 

“Oh.” He said soft as a whisper and thumbed through them. 

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.” Mary Jane stressed as she stood up, stretched her arms high above her head and started putting her books back into her bag. “You should honestly probably go back to your apartment and catch a nap.” 

That was funny, Harry thought. Like he could close his eyes and see anything other than Peter’s blood coating his hands. 

He had taken a total of three showers since Peter stumbled through the window. One when Peter had fallen asleep, the second at six in the morning when he decided he was done with even  _ trying _ to sleep, and then once more hours later before heading to classes. Three showers wasn’t enough to clean off the blood - even if it no longer felt as though it was there. He squeezed his hands open and shut and typed out a quick  _ qui _ to Marco’s request before following Mary Jane’s lead. “Peter and Harley are in classes all night so what’s the point of cooking for myself.” 

The unspoken fear of being alone went unnoticed and he followed her out of the classroom, all the while preparing himself for what he knew would be yet another sleepless night. 

* * *

Going out with Marco was always an adventure. For one, wherever Marco went Harley was sure to follow - and vice versa (Marco was painfully attracted to the southern boy but had yet to make a move and the  _ pining _ was driving Harry insane) - and whenever MJ, Gwen  _ and  _ Mary Jane tagged along Harry knew he was in for a long night. Usually he was too busy to join - between school, a company,  _ and _ his endless problems Harry didn’t exactly have the most disposable time. And the group bugged him about it, but not nearly as much as they bugged  _ Peter _ about it. If Harry was flaky then Peter was downright unavailable. Harry understood, and they never brought it up around him, but even  _ he _ knew that they were more upset than he was whenever Peter backed out of plans. 

Marco didn’t outright  _ dislike _ Peter - which was good, Harry thought, since Marco was probably the closest thing Harry had to a best friend - but he didn’t really like him either. As the hopeless romantic of the bunch, Marco felt it was incredibly odd that the two of them were intrinsically linked yet separate at the same time. Whatever secrets Harry had were never really kept from Peter - other than the company…  _ that _ Harry would keep hidden as long as he could - and whenever they were together they were almost inseparable. Yet Peter was so  _ busy _ that Marco never really had much time to get to know him. He trusted him because Harry trusted him, but if they ever broke up (which that thought sent a stab of pain so deep into Harry’s chest that he nearly lost his breath at it) Peter would be written completely out of his good graces - regardless of what it would do to his friend group in the United States. 

Being a native French speaker, Marco casually switched in and out of languages so seamlessly that it became second nature to simply tweak him in the ear whenever it happened to anyone  _ but _ Harry. Harley always managed to go a bit starry eyed whenever the French language curled itself around Marco’s tongue and that day wasn’t any different. 

“If you don’t ask him out,” Harry said from the corner of his mouth in a language that only the two of them understood. “ _ I’ll _ do it for you.” 

Marco sputtered. “The country hick?” Gwen shot them a curious look when she settled into her seat beside MJ but didn’t ask for an explanation on the sudden switch of language - they all hung around each other enough to be used to it. And even if it was annoying, there were times that neither Marco or Harry noticed they had even  _ switched _ until one of the others told them. 

Harley was at the bar with Mary Jane waiting on their drinks and a server had dropped off greasy pub food just moments before. Still, Harry noticed the glance backwards Harley served them at the timbre of Marco’s voice. Obvious, Harry thought with an eye roll. “You’ve been staring at his ass all night.” 

Marco  _ had  _ been but that didn’t mean he enjoyed when Harry called him out on it and he fixed him with such a severe shock that Harry could feel a laugh bubbling up despite himself. “What are y’all talkin’ ‘bout?” Harley  _ was  _ smooth and Harry could admit that. He slid between the two of them with the drinks balanced on a black tray with the heir of someone that had been doing this for years. He was smart, attractive, and ridiculously attentive. Harry didn’t see  _ why _ Marco was holding back. 

Harry’s eyes glittered and he opened his mouth to say as such - in English - when Marco slapped a hand over his mouth with a hissed, “Don’t you  _ dare _ .” 

“Secrets don’t make friends.” Mary Jane sang but still handed over Harry’s fizzing soda with a wink. 

With his medication, Harry wasn’t supposed to drink and he didn’t think he would either way. Harry  _ lived _ for being in control of a situation - it bugged Peter to no end - and drinking limited his control almost too much. Mary Jane and the others knew it and joked about him always being the designated driver - only if Peter was with them than he was always usually sober (enhanced metabolism worked wonders on alcohol consumption) and Harley wasn’t much of a fan of drinking enough to get drunk. “But friends make secrets.” MJ finished the saying with a wink and tapped her glass against Harry’s in a sort of comforting truce.

Out of the six of them, only three knew of Peter’s night time ( _ any time of the day,  _ Harry’s mind corrected) activities. Everyone else simply thought that Peter was working incredibly hard in the labs or had a part time job and, really, they weren’t  _ wrong _ . Even with his schedule being what it was, Peter was well on the track to be the top of their class  _ and _ the top in his graduating field. He was a sophomore given a full scholarship upon entry (which was a blessing, Harry knew, because otherwise he would be drowning in student debt since he  _ refused _ any help Harry tried to give) and had scored one of the top internships on campus. Harry didn’t have to  _ like _ Doctor Tolliver to know that he was a highly respected scientist that routinely only allowed the best of the best to work on his projects with him. 

Harry was proud of him - was proud to call him  _ his _ \- and he went out of his way to tell literally anyone that listened the list of Peter’s accomplishments. It would be so annoying, MJ had told him, if it wasn’t also so stupidly  _ cute _ . 

They spent most of the night there - Harley branching off with Marco after  _ insisting _ that he teach him how to play darts (and Harley was scarily  _ good _ at it and Harry smirked at the look on Marco’s face every time he managed to hit the center of the target). Harry had texted Peter a total of five times and each one had gone unanswered. 

He tried not to let it bother him - Peter was busy and he always got distracted whenever he did anything scientific but the longer he was there the more tired he got. And the more tired Harry got the more he was unable to hide the feeling of frustration. Communication was important and Harry  _ hated  _ not knowing where Peter was. He didn’t need to know at all times - he wasn’t obsessive or controlling and he would never tell Peter  _ no _ \- but he would at least like to know that his boyfriend was still alive. That he wasn’t  _ angry _ with Harry and ignoring him on purpose. 

_ That _ was the real problem, he thought as he toyed with the straw in his drink. Harry had  _ a lot  _ of problems - most of them that he was working on getting better - but the  _ fear _ that churned in his gut over whether he had unintentionally made Peter angry was probably the most frustrating one. It was impossible to push away - Harry had grown up to be afraid of silence and what it meant for him. He tried to tell himself that it was dumb - even if Peter  _ was _ angry he was the type of person to want to talk it out not… well… not  _ hit  _ it out. And it was stupid, it was dumb, but the fear was impossible to push away. “My head hurts just looking at you.” MJ slid into the seat next to him - Gwen and Mary Jane had disappeared to cheer on Marco and Harley leaving just MJ and Harry behind at the table to guard their drinks. 

Harry had never really gotten close to MJ - he didn’t dislike her but she was Peter’s friend before she had been his. She was Peter  _ ex _ and Harry was his present and it could have made it weird. He didn’t  _ dislike _ her - she was nice even if she was more closed off in her interactions than any of their other friends. MJ didn’t have expectations and that was nice. She was probably the only person Harry had met that never slipped up and called him by his old last name and, whether it was conscious or not he appreciated it. 

Still, if anyone understood what Harry was going through with Peter it would probably be her. 

Well, her and Pepper but Pepper wasn’t there. 

“I’m just tired.” Harry sent her a small, half smile and she scoffed. 

“Does that excuse usually work?” 

“Am I really that transparent?” Because MJ was the third person to call him on his lies that day and, usually, Harry was much better at hiding things. 

MJ tilted her head, her dark and tight curls brushing against her cheek, and scrutinized him with narrowed eyes. “No,” She said after a moment. “You’re just better at lying when you’re not tired.” 

“That’s fair.” Harry sunk lower into the uncomfortable seat and sighed before flipping his phone upside down on the table so that he didn’t have to stare at the screen. 

“He hasn’t answered yet, has he?” MJ didn’t look at him when she asked but, instead, at the others where they were gathered around the dart board. 

Admitting it felt wrong - felt too much like complaining and Harry didn’t  _ want _ to complain about Peter. Peter didn’t do anything that deserved a complaint. He shook his head instead of offering verbal confirmation and MJ slung an arm around the back of his chair. “Peter’s shit at communication.” MJ stated and then she powered through as though she hadn’t expected an answer to begin with. “It’s one of his many charms.” 

Harry snorted despite himself. “Oh yeah, right up there with crime fighting vigilante.” 

They shared a smile and she nudged at his shoulder. “Come on, if we don’t join them they’re going to start throwing the darts at us instead of the board.” And they probably would - knowing Marco Harry was shocked he hadn’t already tried. 

He stood up before she could, pulled out her chair like the gentleman he was tried to be (regardless of the way she rolled her eyes and punched his shoulder as she walked by) and reached for his phone at the same time it started vibrating. 

His heart jumped in his throat, for a moment, at the thought that it was  _ finally _ Peter calling to say he was either on his way or simply checking in. 

Instead the number was unknown. 

Harry wasn’t in the habit of answering unknown numbers and his thumb hovered over the option to accept it for a long moment. It could be Peter, he thought, calling from Doctor Tolliver’s office phone to check in. Maybe he had forgotten to charge his phone again. Ready to chew Peter out in a teasing manner, Harry slid the phone over to accept and held it up to his ear. 

“Hello,” a robotic voice chimed in his ear. “This is a collect call from Metropolitan Correctional Center inmate Norman Osborn - do you accept these charges?” 

It was as though the world had simply stopped moving. Three years. It had been  _ three years _ since he had last heard his father’s voice and it breaking through a robotic recording was jarring in a way Harry hadn’t expected. Dimly, he was aware that MJ had stopped halfway to their group of friends to stare at him with a question on her face. He could see the smile pulling on Marco’s lips and the soft way Harley’s blue eyes were staring at his friend’s face. Gwen was mid throw, Mary Jane taking a sip out of her beer. 

His phone hitting the ground was what broke through the silence and the noise of the bar jolted into him like a freight train. He stumbled backwards and caught himself on the table. MJ snapped her fingers and Marco jerked his attention to Harry just as his heart started to pound hard in his chest. 

Panic attack. 

Harry hadn’t had many of them before but he had coached  _ Peter  _ through them late at night. “Harry?” Marco’s soft, accented voice called his name from a step too close. The hand Marco put on the bare skin of his arm felt like a knife carving off a piece of his skin. 

He shoved Marco back before he could stop himself and his friend stumbled into a man that had been passing by behind him. “Hey!” Harley stepped between them. “What’s goin’ on here?” 

Harry had twenty steps until he got to the door and he pushed his way through it with his palms banging heavy on the metal of the door. The night air had a chill and it slapped him in the face. He welcomed the sting, breathed in so deeply that his lungs felt raw and choked on the way out. With hands stiff on his knees and doubled over Harry considered the consequences of walking back home. 

Home. 

His mind first saw his old bedroom at the penthouse - blue walls and dusty television and a burning sketchbook with a sting on his cheek and…. “Hey.” He looked up and nearly cried. 

Peter was a sight for sore eyes and he had rather quickly changed out of what Harry  _ knew _ was the Spider suit. His hair was the sort of mused that it only got under the mask and the red and blue fabric was still sticking out of the top of his backpack that he had slung over his shoulder. There were no books in there - Harry  _ knew _ that - but instead only a suit and first aid kit. “Hey.” Peter said again and stepped closer. 

Harry couldn’t help the flinch that had him bodily flattening himself up against the wall and Peter’s eyes widened, just a tad, at the speed in which Harry moved. “Okay.” He  _ sounded _ okay, but it went directly against the cringe on Peter’s face. “No touching until you say so.” He held both hands out in front of him and Harry felt as though he could cry but, instead, coughed on nothing again. 

He stared down at Peter’s shoes - they were scuffed on the toes and torn on the side and Harry would have to get him new ones because Peter would never remember that he needed them. 

It wasn’t sudden but much slower than the panic had come on that Harry felt it fade out of his body. He was  _ exhausted _ and tilted his head back against the cold concrete of the dirty alleyway and, slowly, slid down until his knees were bent in front of his face. Peter could hear when Harry’s heart got itself down to a normal rate and  _ Harry _ could hear when Peter let out a sigh of relief and stepped closer - slowly, as though to allow Harry a moment to tell him to stay back. Only Harry didn’t  _ want _ him to stay back. He felt as though his skin was itching to fall off and he could feel his pulse loudly beating against his head. “Hey.” Peter said for a third time and crouched down in front of him. 

Harry wanted to laugh but when it came out even  _ he _ wasn’t sure if it was a laugh or a sob. “Hey.” He looked up through his eyelashes, saw the small, pained, smile Peter sent his way, and thought that, if Peter were to tell him that the world was perfect that Harry would believe him. “You’re showing.” He fingered the mask and pretended he didn’t also hear the way Peter’s own laugh was strangled. Peter stuffed the mask in farther and pulled Harry in around his shoulders at the same time, a hard kiss pressed from his lips to the crown of Harry’s head. 

“You okay?” The bag zipped and Peter’s other hand rubbed circles in his back. 

He smelled like churros and sweat and Harry thought that if he squeezed Peter’s shirt in his hands hard enough that maybe his body would stop shaking. He thought about about lying - about saying the  _ I’m fine _ that he knew Peter wouldn’t believe but decided against it in the same breath. “No.” 

Peter’s cheek pressed against his own. “Do you wanna go home?” 

Home. 

A bed that was more comfortable and less money than Harry had ever expected, a shower that got too hot and mismatched dishes and paint dotting the hardwood floor. Peter’s arms tightened and Harry knew he would go wherever Peter asked of him. “Yeah.”

“Come on.” Peter hauled him to his feet, stared him in his eyes once they were standing, and kept an arm slung around Harry’s shoulders the entire ten minute walk back to their apartment. 

And if Harry thought he saw Doctor Tolliver watching them from a parked car he wouldn’t say anything. 

It was probably just a trick of his mind. 


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in two days?! Who's as shocked as I am?

Peter’s arm was starting to tingle where Harry’s head rested on it - heavy as a rock and with dark hair that tickled at his skin. Still, Peter didn’t think he would be able to move him. Harry hadn’t slept the night before - he hadn’t _told_ Peter but, well, sometimes Peter thought that Harry forgot that he was enhanced and so ridiculously attuned to how Harry breathed that he would notice the subtle shift from _half asleep_ to _awake_. Harry hadn’t fallen back asleep even if Peter had and Peter knew he had spent most of the night staring at Peter’s face as though he were about to evaporate before his very eyes. Peter was prone to doing the same, after all. On the rare occasions that he somehow managed to sneak into the apartment without waking Harry up or on bad nights where he simply couldn’t shut off his brain. He would lay there and map out the smooth contour of Harry’s face - would count his freckles and eyelashes and trace the curve of his nose and lips with a barely there touch of his finger. 

Peter had hoped he would be less busy that day - he had meant to force Harry into an early night curled up on the couch watching bad movies. Maybe Harley would join them or maybe he wouldn’t - Peter wasn’t picky either way but he knew Harry enjoyed staying in as much as Peter did. Plus, it had the added bonus of, hopefully, lulling him into sleep and Peter would never regret the way his back ached for sleeping on the couch if it was Harry that had fallen asleep first. 

His plans, as they so usually did, had been thwarted. Between a chemistry test he had forgotten, _three_ labs, a five alarm fire, a robbery, _and_ a near breakdown of a fellow lab assistant that he happened to stumble in on he had forgotten entirely to check his phone. And by the time he _had_ it was close to nine at night and Peter felt _horrible_ about missing all the texts he had been sent. 

Harry’s texts, at least, had been a typical of him. He didn’t sound upset or frustrated or even vaguely annoyed - just _tired_ . It was hard to convey or explain but Peter knew just by a simple abbreviation that the night before was still weighing heavily on his boyfriend’s mind. _Harley’s_ texts were the ones that had seemed to alert Peter to something _more_ going on with Harry than his boyfriend was apt to show. As usual, Peter thought with a sigh, _he_ was the last person Harry would tell when something was frustrating him. 

That was unfair, Peter thought. Harry did tell him when things were bothering him. Peter knew all about Harry’s frustrations - when classes were annoying or the press was breathing down his neck too hard. He knew when Mary Jane had given constructive criticism a little _too_ close to criticism and when Marco had stepped out of line. He _knew_ it was simply that… well Harry avoided telling Peter when _he_ was the cause of the problem. Peter was sure that it all stemmed down from Norman Osborn and his terrible parenting techniques but Harry’s fear of confrontation made it more than a little difficult for Peter to know what he had to get better at. He wasn’t that much better himself - Peter had too many problems to count really, but he liked to think May and Ben had taught him that the only way to _fix_ problems were to confront them. 

Regardless, Peter thought, they would _have_ to talk about it sometime. Peter hadn’t asked Harry what had caused his breakdown outside of the bar earlier and Harry hadn’t readily offered up the information but, instead, had asked Peter about his day. It was okay, Peter would allow him time to recover, but the fact that they _had_ to talk about what had been happening was something that Peter knew Harry wasn’t going to like. He felt Harry’s steady breath against the skin of his bicep and flexed his fingers to hopefully bring back some blood flow to the crease of his arm. 

The television was on soft enough that no one except Peter would be able to hear it but, even then, it seemed too loud for the quiet moment. Harley had stayed at the bar with the rest of their group and Peter knew, now that it was nearing one in the morning, he would be back soon. Their bedroom door was wide open, the light from the hallway window spilling in against the floor, but Peter felt tired enough in his bones that he didn’t want to get up. 

Plus, Harry was a scarily light sleeper and if Peter got out of bed he would wake up and probably not fall back asleep. 

Harry had fallen asleep with the ghost of a smile on his face and Peter still had the hand he had placed lightly against his chest pressed there. He didn’t want to move it - didn’t want to disturb the heat that spread from Harry’s fingertips into the edges of Peter’s soul and let the cold of the night air settle into where it was. It was perhaps the one night that month that Peter had retired at a normal time, which meant it was the one night Harry had too. 

Peter shuffled his body closer - his arm really was starting to fall asleep - and thanked every deity he could think of when Harry didn’t wake but, instead, curled himself around Peter’s shoulder and let him shake out his arm. 

He was tired but not tired enough to actually sleep - still, the cushion of the mattress against his back was enough for him to relax and Harry’s breath brushing steady against his collarbone was enough to make him melt. 

Sometimes it scared Peter how much he relied on Harry. He knew it was unfair to place so much on his shoulder and not expect the weight to pull him down, but Peter didn’t know where else to put it. It wasn’t as though Harry would _let_ him put it on anyone else, either. He had slid perfectly into the role of overprotective boyfriend and he fussed over any injuries Peter had more than May did. It shouldn’t have been shocking - Harry had been an attentive _friend_ , of course that attentiveness was going to pick up once him and Peter were something more - but Peter still found he had to remind himself that he didn’t _have_ to patch himself up alone anymore every now and then. Harry was surprisingly good at giving stitches and Peter absolutely refused to think of _why_ lest he find himself in the middle of the Metropolitan Correctional Center with Norman Osborn dead at his feet. 

There were times when Peter looked at Harry and was amazed by how far he had come in such a short amount of time and then there were times, like the night before, when he was brutally reminded of the fact that Harry had almost been _killed_ just three years prior and the injuries, while healed, would never be completely gone. 

Harry wasn’t prone to panic attacks - he saw a counselor once a week, religiously took the medication he was prescribed for depression, and actively avoided most triggering events. Peter was the one of them to suffer from spiralling thoughts. He had never walked someone through a panic attack before - he only knew what _he_ needed when he was suffering. And communication was key. Harry had made it obvious with his full body flinch backwards that he didn’t want to be touched and Peter had had to clench his muscles hard enough that they had screamed in protest in order to hold himself back. He had felt useless simply standing there - guarding Harry’s body from the curious gaze of anyone walking in or out and waving off Gwen when she had peaked her head out the door to be sure Harry wasn’t alone. Peter needed grounding when he was panicking - needed a touch or a sound to focus on. Harry… well it seemed Harry needed to be left alone. 

Peter didn’t have to _like_ it in order to understand it. 

Once the attack was over, though, Harry didn’t seem inclined to want to let Peter go. He had wound his hand in the back of Peter’s shirt the entire walk home, had pressed his body in close to Peter’s back while he unlocked the door and had insisted, without words, for a twenty minute long hug in the middle of the kitchen. Peter knew better than to mention the blood shot eyes - Harry didn’t _like_ it when he cried - and, instead, had let go just long enough for the two of them to change into something better than the stiff clothes they had spent all day in. And then… well then they had laid down facing each other - Peter had told Harry about his day and Harry had let his voice lull him into sleep. 

The trust was important there, Peter knew that. Harry hadn’t had many people he could trust growing up and he _still_ had trust issues. But he trusted Peter. 

That trust was probably Peter’s most precious possession. 

He heard Harley get home at exactly one thirty in the morning - heard him kick off his shoes and throw his keys in the stupid decorative bowl Harry had _insisted_ they have by the door. “He left his jacket,” Harley said from the doorway once he noticed Peter was still awake, his hair a mess from the night and blue eyes drooping already from exhaustion. He draped Harry’s jacket over the back of a chair and pulled his damaged phone out of his pocket. “Busted the screen but it should still work fine.” 

Pepper would insist on sending him a new one anyway and they both knew it. “Everyone got home okay?” Peter kept his voice pitched quiet but there was really no point - Harry was dead asleep against his chest and Peter thought that this was perhaps the best Harry had slept all month. 

“Yeah,” Harley didn’t move to leave though and Peter knew he was thinking of some sort of question to ask. Did he know _what_ had thrown Harry into his panic attack or was he wondering the same thing Peter was? He studied them, watched the way Peter’s hand moved up when Harry breathed in and down when he breathed out, and shrugged whatever he was going to say away. “Night, Peter.” 

Peter almost told him to stay - almost demanded he tell him what was obviously bothering him but knew that Harley wasn’t any more prone to giving answers away as Harry was. Pushing never did anything for those two but get their guards to go up. “Goodnight, Harley.” 

He pulled the door shut behind him and Peter heard it latch and shut his eyes for probably the first time since they had arrived home. The moonlight danced over the alabaster of Harry’s skin and made him look almost porcelain and Peter felt almost as though he could cry simply looking at him. How had he managed to get so lucky as to have him in his arms every night? 

Peter pressed a small kiss to the scar on Harry’s head and fell asleep to the steady, strong, sound of his breathing.

* * *

Working with Doctor Tolliver was a once in a lifetime experience and Peter _loved_ every second he spent in the lab with him. He was absolutely brilliant, one of the top scientists in the neurological community, and what he was creating was to _help_ people. He was the type of scientist Peter always wanted to be - kind, smart and respected. The way he thought was truly magnificent and he approached problems the way that Peter did - through scientific reasoning, testing his theory, and then fixing the problems in order to implement the mechanics of his creations. 

Which only made his questions about _Harry_ all the more confusing. 

And it was, desperately and completely starting to get on Peter’s nerves. 

It was odd, he thought, Harry was usually his favorite topic. He was typically like a broken record talking about Harry. It started off simple enough - _so you’re dating Harry Osborn_ , to which Peter was pretty used to being asked (usually followed up with a _oh, aren’t you that guy that everyone thought was Spider-Man_ ). He corrected it as smoothly as he could - _Stark_ , because that was the name Harry had _chosen_ on that legal document that made Pepper Stark his legal mother - and carried on with his measurements. But Doctor Tolliver just kept _asking_. “How did you two meet?” He asked absentmindedly and Peter’s spider sense tinged with a warning he couldn’t place. 

He moved his hand out of the way just in time for a spark to fly from the circuit board and cursed softly. “Uhm, Harry and I have known each other our whole lives.” 

“Interesting.”  
It wasn’t really _that_ interesting, Peter thought with agitation and tightened a screw. It was common knowledge at this point - Harry was in the public eye and Peter had faded out of it up until his relationship with Harry became something that tabloids wanted to know about. “What does he do?” Tolliver questioned from where he was bent over wiring. “I always assumed he would be into biology like his father.” 

The way he said it made Peter look up in question. “Did you know his father?” He hoped not, but, really, Norman had known many scientists. He was insane and an absolute terrible father but he _had_ been one of the greatest biological minds of their age. 

“Not really, no.” Tolliver didn’t look at him while he spoke. “I’m just shocked he’s not on the roster, is all.” 

“Harry’s not his father.” Peter defended with a vicious yank of a cord. “He’s _smart_ but science and technology has never been his thing.” 

Tolliver hummed as though Peter had just said something that was incredibly interesting without even meaning to. He supposed it was - Norman had been so deeply rooted within the scientific community and _then_ Harry had opted to stay with the Starks who were incredibly linked within the technology community. The fact that he _wasn’t_ interested at all in either of those things was quite shocking to many people. Peter had an advantage over all of them - Harry had never pretended to enjoy those things around him and, while he could hold a conversation about either if he had to, Peter tried not to force him into it. 

“If he’s not into biology like his father,” Tolliver continued. “What _is_ he into?” 

It was something a lot of people had asked and everytime that it came up Peter felt nothing short of annoyance creeping up his spine. “Harry’s an artist.” He listened for a scoff but didn’t hear one and thought, perhaps, he had simply been on edge for no reason other than protectiveness. “He’s actually really spectacular at it.” Peter continued. “Was the first sophomore to get his pieces up in the gallery that Lesterman puts on every year - usually it’s only seniors that get featured so it was a really big deal.” Peter hoped the pride in his voice wasn’t _too_ noisy. 

“Were the abuse allegations true?” 

Peter froze, his fingers hovering over keys and muscles tense. No one had ever asked him _that_ before. 

Why would they? Norman was _convicted_ . He was rotting in a prison cell. _Of course_ the allegations were true - Peter had seen the aftermath and attempt on Harry’s life first hand. He had witnessed the destruction Norman had left in his wake and seen the terror and _life_ he had tried so hard to drain out of Harry. _Of course_ the allegations were true. The details - for the most part - could be googled and _had_ been googled by more than one curious classmate. 

If Harry had been asked before he hadn’t told Peter but _no one_ had had the gall to ask Peter before and the fact that it was Tolliver - someone Peter _respected_ \- that did it first did nothing but make him angrier. “ _That_ is none of your business.” Peter snapped despite himself and his fingers landed lightly on the keys. 

Perhaps Tolliver had heard the tension in his voice because he finally looked up, a frown on his aging face. “I meant no offense, Peter.” Too bad, Peter wanted to yell at him. The offense had already been caused. “I’m merely curious as to if your relationship with Mister Osborn will affect your work.” 

Peter pursed his lips. “ _Stark_ .” He corrected viciously. “Why is it so hard for you to get that right? Once it was a mistake, twice a slip up, but _three times_ ? Either you’re just _that_ obtuse or you’re doing it on purpose.” 

Tolliver blinked and his cheeks flushed. “I apologize Peter.” 

“And my _relationship_ is none of your business. It’s not _anyone’s_ business. And if you keep asking about it then it _will_ start to affect my work.” 

Tolliver was silent then, as Peter fumed without looking over at him, fingers dancing hard against the keys of the computer he was stationed. Doctor Tolliver wasn’t the first person to assume he knew something about Peter and Harry’s relationship and he wasn’t about to be the last and Peter _knew_ it was a reality that he would have to get used to. That didn’t mean he had to _like_ it. Harry deserved none of the bad things people said about him and Peter was determined to stop it whenever he could. 

He respected Tolliver, but he _would_ stop working with him if he kept up with his current line of questioning. 

Thankfully, the older man seemed to understand that without Peter having to say it and, instead, directed their conversation back to the project at hand. “I’m having a bit of a problem with my coding over here.” He waved Peter over closer and Peter considered ignoring him out of spite but curiosity won out. “Do you see anything that could be changed to get this line to maneuver correctly?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who doesn't trust Tolliver, raise your hand!


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: this story isn't going to be as angsty as last one!   
> My muse: lmao bet 
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: skip the italics for abuse triggers

With great determination, Peter succeeded in being attentive and on time for around a week before his more natural, flaky personality took over. Honestly, Harry was more shocked that he lasted a week before fading back into his normal self but still managed to win a bet against Harley (but lost it against May who had bet in incredible odds  _ against _ her nephew). Really though, Harry was more than a little glad that Peter was finally back to his old self - while Harry enjoyed and adored having him around, Peter made concentration much more difficult than it should be. With Peter there Harry went into the office less (which  _ shouldn’t _ have been a problem - but Oscorp was one more bad decision away from losing  _ all _ of their scientists and Harry had worked too hard on the company to see it fall apart at this point), he opted for dinners at home instead of at the studio, and he actually went to bed at a normal time. Not that the last one was a big problem, but Harry had  _ things _ he liked to do at midnight while waiting for Peter to climb back in through a window and with Peter  _ home _ it made doing those things a lot more difficult. Peter was  _ not _ a fan of Harry’s late night snack and sitcom habits and a week without Ritz crackers and blueberry jam was really starting to grate on him. 

That being said, he wasn’t exactly a fan of how often Peter forgot to be home for dinner and, instead, would lose himself in the labs. Harry swore, if Peter could, he would become one with a microscope and embody scientific discovery. He wondered if he was as annoyingly obsessed with art as Peter was with biology and decided that the answer was probably a loud, resounding  _ yes _ . 

_ Made for each other _ , Harley had scoffed and thrown a rolled up straw wrapper at Harry’s face over a rare dinner all three of them shared,  _ it’s disgusting _ . 

Harry supposed they  _ had _ been. Peter had argued that no two people could be  _ made _ for each other (it  _ biologically didn’t make sense! _ ) but Harry had simply rolled fondly exasperated eyes and tapped his cheek to get him to shut up about it. 

It had been a good day, Harry decided with steady steps towards the building Doctor Tolliver’s lab was located with a small smile at the ground. He had met up with Pepper and Morgan for lunch, Morgan had told him all about the magnets she was making at school and vowed to bring him one when they were done, he had sat in for a  _ long _ video chat with Ned about literally nothing and Peter had actually answered every text Harry had sent him throughout the day. 

If anyone had asked Harry just a few years ago to explain what happiness felt like he wasn’t sure he would have been able to. At his lowest point he had resigned himself to death but, walking on the university campus with the light fall breeze blowing through his hair and Peter’s dinner clutched in his hand, Harry felt like he had actually done the one thing his father had said he would never be able to achieve -  _ happiness _ . 

The laboratories were chilly - the scientists had a habit of leaving the air conditioning on even if it was negative ten outside and then complaining about how cold they were. He hoped Peter had thought to bring his jacket or wear something more practical than the t-shirt he had run out of the apartment in that morning. Peter was  _ horrible _ at keeping track of his own limits and so Harry did it himself. He glanced out the window at the way the trees rustled with the breeze. At least the suit had a heater. If Peter forgot his jacket he  _ always _ had the suit. 

Tolliver’s lab was at the far end of the hallway a branch off of his office and the biggest in the entire scientific wing. It made sense - his research was Empire’s claim to fame - if he actually managed to make brain operated metal limbs in the university’s labs they would be getting  _ a ton _ of grant money. Which was something that Harry, obviously, wasn’t actually supposed to know but, well, boards of schools and companies tended to try and spill  _ anything _ to people they thought could be potential investors. 

Growing up around scientists had taught Harry some very important things - one was that he should  _ always _ knock before entering their laboratory (some were very  _ private _ people and other times they were wearing specific gear that  _ needed _ to be worn in order to access whatever particle or chemical they were working with). Another was that scientists may not  _ look _ like a threat but they usually were and that while they were, usually, the smartest person in the room they were very quick to forget that you didn’t have to  _ enjoy  _ science in order to understand it. 

Tolliver fell under all of those categories. 

Harry had no  _ real _ problem with Tolliver and he had dealt with scientists like him his entire life. Even  _ Peter _ had moments where he slipped and assumed that he had to explain something to Harry that he didn’t or would wave his hand with a  _ you wouldn’t understand _ before catching himself (Harley assumed that Harry understood  _ everything  _ even when Harry asked him to stop and explain and Gwen, really, was the only one that was the comfortable and correct medium between the three of them). Tolliver wasn’t a problem, he wasn’t a threat, and he was simply a  _ passionate _ and obsessed scientist that turned their nose up at anyone that  _ dared _ tell him that they weren’t interested in his work. 

Talking to him was like talking to the Board. 

And Harry had  _ more than  _ enough practice at working around old men to get what he wanted. 

That being said, Harry didn’t  _ like _ Tolliver - he stared, made comments that verged very closely to rude, and was more than a little obsessed with Peter’s  _ potential _ . He reminded Harry of his father whenever he looked at Peter - it was almost as though Peter was something to be cultivated and envied and had a mind that they wished they could remove from his body and put into their own. He was  _ smart _ , and clever and kind to a fault with an attractiveness and confidence that most scientists didn’t have when talking to real life people. He was charismatic and trusting and if Peter didn’t start learning how to put up a wall to protect him from those people that wanted to use him then Harry would, at the least, stand beside him with a sword at the ready to take them down. 

The thing was, there was nothing  _ on _ Tolliver. Nothing concrete anyway. He had published articles in scientific journals ever since 2009 and seemed to step into his field as top dog during the Blip. There were no records of him ever working for OSCORP and the only link he had to Harry’s father was a paper he was listed as a co writer of under one Doctor Otto Octavius back in 2013. He didn’t have social media, didn’t have  _ any _ online presence and the only pictures Harry could find of him were on Empire’s faculty page. 

To be squeaky clean like that, in a time like today, was near impossible and  _ screamed _ of something fishy going on. 

Not that Peter would listen to him if Harry even tried to tell him. 

And Harry  _ hadn’t _ tried, not yet. Not until he had more evidence and more to go on. Peter didn’t lose trust in people until it was absolutely and fundamentally broken and, while Harry thought sometimes that it was a good trait of his, it was also stupidly naive. 

It wasn’t Peter that opened the door this time. 

In fact, glancing around Tolliver’s shoulder informed him that Peter wasn’t even  _ there _ which was more than a little concerning. Peter  _ always _ had the internship on Thursdays and, unless he had decided to go out patrolling, Harry would have passed him on his way to the labs from the apartment. He frowned. “Mister Osborn.” That was  _ another _ reason Harry didn’t like Tolliver. Harry was used to idiots in the media and on the street calling him a name he didn’t associate with just to get a reaction - or simply because they forgot - but Tolliver  _ kept at it _ even once corrected. It was almost as though he was trying to hint Harry towards something he wasn’t getting. 

Oh well, if Tolliver wasn’t going to respect Harry then he wasn’t about to be receiving the respect he craved either. 

Let it not be said that Harry was anything  _ less _ than  _ petty _ . “Mister Tolliver.” The lack of the appropriate title had a visible reaction from the greying scientist and Harry almost smirked in satisfaction before pushing it out of view. “Is Peter not here?” 

Tolliver stared at him a moment longer, his beady eyes studying Harry as though he was the most interesting scientific specimen he had ever been graced with before stepping into the lab and out of the way. “I let Doctor Franklin borrow him for a moment,” Tolliver wiggled his fingers as though that was an explanation enough. “He needed nimble fingers.” 

Harry hummed and stepped in through the doorway. “I just was dropping off his dinner.” It was easy to pinpoint which work station was Peter’s - he was both organized and  _ messy _ \- he color coded everything but his own personal belongings were hell to sort through. Moving with him had been nothing short of painful for someone with specific methods such as Harry and Peter had simply laughed and pushed him out of the room while  _ he _ boxed things up in his own specific order that Harry couldn’t even begin to understand. He placed the paper bag on Peter’s table, lips quirking up a bit in a small smile when he noticed the picture Peter had slid into the front pocket of his open planner - Harry had doodled that, bored out of his mind during a meeting and gifting it to Peter for the pure humor of it. It was Spider-Man, arms outstretched and leaping off a building running away from a giant spider monster. 

Peter had acted annoyed with the drawing but had insisted on keeping it. 

“Sit, Harry.” If there was anything Harry hated more than being unestimated it was when someone treated him like they were friends. He was used to it, of course. Growing up in the public eye meant more people knew more about him than he ever wanted. Tolliver, apparently, was one of them. He sat himself, his hands steepled on his round stomach and stared at Harry over the rim of his glasses. “Peter shouldn’t be too long.” 

Harry  _ knew _ Peter though and he, probably,  _ would _ be longer than Tolliver had meant him to be when lending him to someone else. “Thank you for the offer, Elliot, but I really should get going.” 

Tolliver’s easy going smile didn’t vanish but it  _ did _ grow tighter around the edges. 

Harry shifted his weight and picked at his thumb nail. 

The thing about growing up with a father like Norman Osborn was that Harry had become terribly attuned to subtle changes in body language. It helped get him out of a lot of tight spaces in the past but he was horribly unsure if it would help him  _ at all _ this time around. In a move he hoped was subtle he slid Peter’s pen off his desk and into the palm of his hand. It wouldn’t make a  _ good _ weapon but all Harry really needed was one good enough to distract until he could either make it to the door or to the more  _ promising _ weapons. Cautious, that was all he was being. “Do you speak to your father still?” 

Harry felt his muscles tense and breathing slow. “I don’t think that’s any of your business, Doctor.” 

“I worked with him, you know.” He didn’t stand but he didn’t  _ have  _ to. Harry was well versed in how a relaxed posture could snap quickly into something more dangerous. 

“A lot of people worked for the company.” 

“Oh no,” Tolliver shook his head. “Not for the company. For  _ Norman _ .” He smiled as though he were telling a long held secret and Harry supposed it was. Tolliver didn’t exist in any OSCORP files. “He was a brilliant man, before, you know, the psychosis took over.” 

“Yeah well, he was a shit father.” Harry took one step forward, mouth set in a determined line to get  _ out _ of the room. The air felt suffocating and, even if the words weren’t meant as a threat they felt much too close to one for him to be comfortable. 

Pepper had suggested she get him a bodyguard - Harry had laughed and asked her what the point was when he was literally dating a superhero. 

Clearly, this was fate’s way of proving him wrong. He reached for the doorknob when Tolliver’s next words sent a chill so cold down his spine he wasn’t sure if he could move even if he wanted to. “You remind me of him.” 

Harry choked on his words. “ _ What _ ?” 

“I helped  _ create _ you,” Tolliver’s chair creaked as he leaned forward to stare at Harry’s wide blue eyes. “Does Peter know what sort of  _ monster _ you are?”

“I’m not…” 

Except the fear of turning into his father was something so deeply entrenched into his very being that the words spoken aloud felt like a confirmation.  _ Monster _ . Norman Osborn was a monster and  _ of course _ he would create another in his own image. He could hear the scratch of his father's crazed, high laugh, cutting through his thoughts like an echo that chased him with each step he took. He thought of the phone call, the terror it had sent shocking up through his system. “Does the psychosis run in the family? Take off the mask,  _ Harry _ and show me what your father made of you.” 

_ He had his back pressed up against his father’s desk, watching the mania spread across his age lined face and smile tear at the corners of his mouth. “You’ve always been a disappointment. Too much like your mother.”  _

__ _ “Dad-.”  _

__ _ “No, no, no,” His father’s fingers dug into the skin of his cheek and forced him to look him in the eye. Desperately, Harry searched for any hint of Norman that may still be within, some glimmer of the man that used to read him bedtime stories and held him when he cried after Richard and Mary died. He looked and looked for the father that had hugged him tight when he came out through gasping sobs and told him that it didn’t matter because homosexuality simply was a fact of the world and there was nothing in him that needed to be fixed.  _

__ _ There was no Norman Osborn left in those eyes. “No more dad, no more Norman.” He smiled and a thin trail of blood ran down the corner of his mouth. Harry’s fingers clawed at his father’s wrist to try and pull his face free. “Only the Goblin.”  _

“My  _ father _ made nothing -.” 

“ _ Harry _ ,” Tolliver laughed, his breath brushing against his face. “Look at where you are.” 

He looked down and blanched - the tip of the blade had dug into the skin at Tolliver’s throat and it had a painted bead of blood on the end of the metal. It clanged to the floor with a crash and he stumbled backwards - breath heaving in and out of his chest and eyes staring up wide at where Tolliver stood with a devilish smile on his old face. 

He didn’t remember getting a knife. 

He didn’t remember lunging or even  _ getting  _ that close and…. 

“What’s going on?” Peter’s voice cut through his panic like a slap to the face and Harry’s eyes snapped to him - tall and slim and  _ strong _ and  _ worried _ as he took in the two of them feet apart and what Harry knew was the clear panic that was painted on his face. 

Peter. 

Peter who was  _ good _ and whole and a  _ hero _ and who didn’t deserve any of the shit Harry had gotten him into since they were three and…. He watched Peter’s eyes catalogue the room and he  _ knew _ he was smart enough to put two and two together. Tolliver wasn’t smiling anymore. 

“Harry,” Peter’s eyes snapped up to him from the knife that glittered on the ground and Harry wasn’t  _ good _ with confrontation and he was even worse with the look Peter was sending his way. 

_ What had he done? _ He choked on air and felt his dinner push its way back up his throat. He clamped his jaw shut and did what he had always done best. 

He ran. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me at the end wincing: OW OW OW OW


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's angsty for a while there. Just... warning.

When they were little Peter and Harry used to make up stories about an alien prince that had to protect one on earth - their words collided and were incredibly different (yet alike) in so many different ways. It was their friendship that kept them alive when their worlds demanded they be separate - even as children they weren’t naive enough to believe that the human race was  _ perfect _ or that aliens wouldn’t have their own judgemental politics. The two princes would work together to save  _ both _ worlds and broker a treaty between the two races. They would work together despite differences, communicate about the problems of their people, and solve any issue flawlessly through communication instead of war. 

It was nice, strangely mature for children of their age, and Peter remembered May and Ben asking him over dinner what problem they had confronted and how they had fixed it that day. Ben would advise Peter when a problem arose that he didn’t know how to fix - he would break things down to an understandable frame of reference for him and encourage Peter to find the solution himself. 

He wished Ben was there now. 

Instead, Peter had to rely on himself and, logically, he knew that was all he had ever had to understand Harry. 

Harry had run from the room, a fear so deep in his eyes that Peter couldn’t place. He had seen Harry look his father in the eye on a stand, tremble in fear, and  _ still _ not look so bone shakingly terrified that Peter was half afraid he was going to fall into the ground to be absorbed. Peter could count on both hands the amount of things Harry was scared of - Norman, fire, aardvarks, heights and goblins.  _ None _ of them made Harry look like  _ that _ . 

His phone was cracked - screen shattered and the glass splintered into Peter’s hand where he held it in his fist. He squeezed - it was already broken so the way it creaked under the pressure of his fingers didn’t really concern him - and wracked his brain for everywhere Harry could have run to. Doctor Tolliver had tried to stop Peter from going after him -  _ he’s having a break… just like his father -  _ but Peter had a notably one track mind where Harry Osborn was concerned. Tolliver had held a napkin to his throat - where the blade that apparently Harry had been holding had pricked his skin - and he had  _ watched _ Peter for a reaction in a way that made his skin itch. 

How was he meant to react? What was he meant to do? 

If Harry  _ had _ hurt Tolliver there had to be a  _ reason _ . Harry wasn’t the sort of person to violently react to anything. He didn’t even kill spiders (Peter had to get Harley to do that for him because Harry had a habit of just placing them outside of the apartment)!  _ Peter _ was the one with the violent anger that waited like a volcano to blow. Harry, if he was angry, would stew in silence, would let it settle and  _ then _ , once it had torn him up inside, yell his frustrations out into the wind. Peter had gotten into exactly three fights with Harry - one over testifying, one over letting him pay the rent, and the last, most recent one, over washing the dishes. Harry wasn’t a  _ fighter _ , not like Peter was. 

And, even if he was, he was never one to fight with his fists. 

Harry had inherited Norman’s sharp tongue - he could tear a person down quicker than they could build themselves up - in  _ three _ different languages. Watching him do it was fascinating - he had almost fought a reporter once that dared insinuate that Peter was  _ less than _ simply because he didn’t have a fancy name. He swore at Marco in French at least twice in a month, had a series of expressions his face ran through that varied from bored to pissed off, but Peter had never seen  _ violence  _ out of him. 

Where would he be hiding? 

Peter had checked the apartment and no one had been there, he had checked the library and their coffee shop and had even called Pepper to ask if he had, somehow, made his way upstate to the Stark home. 

He wasn’t  _ anywhere _ that Peter could think of. 

Harry didn’t usually hide from him, which meant that, wherever he was, he had to be purposely keeping himself somewhere Peter wouldn’t think of following. Which was insane - Peter knew  _ everything  _ there was to know about him. Harry had always had the same hiding spots growing up - the park under the slide, the back corner of the fifth floor of the Empire University library, his art room at the Stark lake house, their bedroom…. The rooftop of OSCORP. 

“Shit.” 

He wouldn’t go back there, would he? 

Harry  _ wouldn’t _ do that to himself, right? 

Of course he would, Peter scoffed, he had been doing it almost daily since the board called on him to start acting as their CEO. No matter how much damage it did to his psyche to return to the same place he had almost been  _ killed _ , Harry  _ still _ returned four times a week to sit in board meetings and try to pick up the mess Norman had left in his wake. Peter knew it affected him even if Harry refused to admit it. Harry hadn’t been sleeping well - which Peter  _ knew _ was partially his own fault - and nightmares had woken him up more than once that week alone. 

He made it to OSCORP in ten minutes - a record - and his shoes touched down on the roof with a small crunch of gravel beneath his feet. 

Peter’s steps stuttered close to the door that he  _ knew _ would lead him down to the penthouse. Pepper had sent cleaners but Peter wasn’t sure if he would physically be able to walk back through the penthouse. Would OSCORP reception take kindly to Spider-Man walking through the doors or would they send him packing? He supposed he could climb down the windows until he reached Harry’s and then just  _ knock  _ until Harry let him in. 

A stone kicked somewhere in the shadows of the night and Peter turned, quick, towards the source of the sound. 

On toes as light as air, Peter crept forward. Typically no one except  _ him _ or burglars hung out on rooftops and Peter wasn’t sure his night could handle something other than a wayward pigeon. With web shooters poised to fire - just in  _ case _ , one could never be too careful around OSCORP even if their image  _ had _ been getting better lately - Peter peaked around the generator and…. 

He sighed, loud enough that Harry’s shoulders hunched up by his ears even if he didn’t turn around. He was sitting on the edge, legs dangling in the breeze and head angled downwards. His hands were clenched over the gravel of the ledge, face turned  _ away _ from where he knew Peter was, and his fingers were holding on tight enough that Peter  _ knew _ was because of the vertigo Harry was getting looking down at the city below his feet. 

He had told Peter once, just a year before, that he had come up to the roof only because it was the one place Norman so rarely went. He used to stand on the ledge with arms outstretched as though the wind could pick him up from under his limbs and lift him away. He had welcomed the vertigo when his world had been shaking beneath his feet because it would make his swooping stomach have a  _ reason _ to be afraid. 

Peter didn’t like the implications of  _ why _ he was up there now. 

“Har.” He spoke softly so as not to startle him further and made sure that the blue soles of his boots crunched under his weight. “Why are you here?” 

Harry didn’t look at him yet but Peter could see the stubborn set of his jaw and stopped when he was close enough to grab him if he had to. This close, Peter could see the way his dark eyelashes fanned over his crystal eyes and red cheeks. He wasn’t wearing a jacket which, Peter could feel against the skin of his own cheeks,  _ had _ to mean he was cold. He wished he had thought to bring a sweater with him - just to drape over his shoulders and fill whatever circles Harry’s mind was running in with a reminder that he wasn’t running them alone. 

Waiting on Harry to speak was like waiting on water to boil - Peter was impatient and Harry  _ required _ patience. Especially during moments like these when he so obviously didn’t want to talk but knew he would have to. Still, Harry’s voice was Peter’s favorite song and Peter knew that hearing it was well worth whatever wait Harry put him through. “Do you remember when we were younger?” Harry spoke down to the city below him and his voice sparked something within Peter that it always did - something close to yearning and much like adoration. 

“Which part?” Peter prompted when it seemed Harry was unwilling to expand more. 

“We used to come up with problems in our kingdoms,” Harry was quiet enough that, if Peter didn’t have his enhanced hearing he was sure to miss his words. “Stupid shit like the farmer didn’t get along with his neighbor or a woman wanted to be a knight and there were laws that prevented it.” 

Peter’s lips quirked at the memories. “Yeah.” 

“My dad had his first psychotic break when I was seven, I think.” 

The conversation change made Peter’s head spin. “Harry…?” 

“I had a villager, in our game, show up and ask what to do when a monster took over his dad.” 

His words sparked something in Peter that made his heart hurt. Every now and then Harry would let something slip, or Peter would be comforting someone as Spider-Man and some hint from his childhood would spark and he would be left spinning. So many hints - so many cries for help - and Peter had missed them all until Harry had nearly died. “I remember.” 

“What if it’s genetic?” Harry looked at him then and the red of his eyes broke something deep within Peter’s heart. Harry didn’t cry much - he  _ hated it _ , hated the weakness it represented. But he had been crying. By himself. On a rooftop. 

“ _ Harry _ .” Peter stepped closer, the wind blowing through his hair and making his curls stand up straight. “You’re not your father.” 

“Not yet.” Harry argued and it wasn’t petulant, like it could have sounded. But purely scientific. 

Harry  _ understood _ science even if he didn’t like it. Sometimes even Peter forgot that. “ _ If _ it is, we’ll cross it when we get to it. Together.” 

_ Like always _ , Peter opened his mouth to say. 

“I attacked Tolliver today.” Harry looked away, his mouth screwed up in a deep frown. “I don’t…  _ remember _ doing it.” 

Tolliver had said as much but Peter hadn’t wanted to believe it. Harry wasn’t violent, he  _ hated _ violence like it was a gut reaction. He wouldn’t have done so unprovoked, no matter what his mind was telling him. “He’s okay.” 

“ _ Peter _ ,” Harry spoke as though Peter wasn’t understanding what he was saying, desperation coating his voice so that it was louder than usual. “I  _ attacked _ Tolliver. I don’t  _ remember _ doing it. And that’s not even the worst part.” 

“What is?” 

“ _ I don’t even feel bad. _ ” Harry laughed and it was darker than usual, twisted. Fake. “Do you know what that makes me?” 

“What did he say?” 

“What? Peter,  _ listen _ -.” 

“What did he say to you?” 

“Would you  _ listen _ to me-?” 

“Not until you tell me what he said.” 

“ Tu ne m'écoutes pas!” 

Peter startled as Harry whirled on him, dangerously tipping forward and shoving off Peter’s hand when he grabbed onto his arm to steady him. Worry gnawed at Peter’s chest - and he reached out again only for Harry to spin his legs around until he stood on two feet in front of Peter, just two inches shorter. “ _ Harry _ ,” Peter stressed and reached for him again. “What did Tolliver say to you?” 

“ _ Fuck _ , Peter  _ why  _ do you  _ never listen _ ?” He shoved at Peter’s chest, right in the middle of the blue spider, and gripped at his own hair when Peter didn’t even stumble. 

Hands held in front of him to pacify Peter could feel his heart breaking with each word. “How can I listen when you don’t tell me what’s wrong?” 

Peter  _ knew _ it was a valid question - knew Harry himself would recognize that - just as he knew Harry wouldn’t admit it. “I  _ hate  _ him.” Harry spit out with enough venom that it could have burned through Peter’s skin if it was aimed in his direction. 

“Who?” Because the list was long - it could have been anyone. Tolliver, Norman,  _ Peter _ . Maybe he was even talking about someone completely random, some stranger on the street. And then there was the thought that Peter hated the most - that Harry was talking about  _ himself _ when he spoke of his hate. 

Peter couldn’t understand that though. How could Harry hate someone that Peter loved  _ so much _ ? “I  _ hate _ him and I  _ hate  _ that I hate him.” 

“Harry,” Peter stepped closer and Harry stepped back. “ _ What _ is going on?” 

“I’m not a  _ good person _ , Peter.” Harry spit the words like the bullets they were but they weren’t aimed to hurt Peter but towards himself. “Go save someone who deserves it.” 

“Excuse you?” Peter was never a person to push boundaries - Harry had cultivated his after  _ years _ of therapy and hard work and Peter respected him too much to break his way past them. But this… this was inexcusable. This was  _ terrifying _ in a way that sent Peter’s heart racing in his chest. It felt a little too close to a goodbye. Peter wasn’t  _ ever _ going to say goodbye to Harry, even if it was what would save his life. “No. You don’t get to send me away. Not like that.” 

“Go!” Harry waved a hand to the side and Peter flinched despite himself. “Go save someone that  _ needs _ you Spider-Man.” 

“You’re lashing out.” Peter said through his own emotions. 

“Go be a hero!” 

“I’m not leaving you!” 

“Why not? You’re never there anyway!” 

“ _ What _ ?!” 

They both stopped, breath moving between them much like the wind and Harry  _ looked _ wild in a way Peter so rarely saw him. It was a primal fear that pulled at Peter’s chest - if Harry asked he didn’t know what he would do. He couldn’t  _ lose _ him… but he couldn’t lose Spider-Man either. The mere thought felt like Peter would be giving up a part of himself. “That’s not fair.” Peter spit out around the lump in his throat. “That’s not  _ fair _ and you know it.” 

“Life’s not  _ fair _ , Peter. Not for us.” 

“I love you.” Peter was almost desperate for it. Almost desperate to work beyond a problem he  _ knew _ he had to fix but didn’t know how. “Do you hear me, Harry?  _ I love you _ .” 

“No you don’t.” 

“I am  _ nothing _ without you.” 

“You are a hero.” 

“And so are you.” 

“ _ Peter _ .” 

“No,” Peter grabbed Harry’s elbows, at the skin that the wind had cooled and pulled him in close - convinced that if he wrapped him in his arms and refused to let go that he could, perhaps, hold him together. “ _ Don’t  _ you  _ dare _ say this is over, Harry Stark.” He held him tight and  _ begged  _ whoever was listening to make this work. Against himself, it seemed as though Harry couldn’t help melting into him, back curving under Peter’s hands and cheeks wet where they pressed against his shoulder. “Please don’t leave me.” Peter whispered against the shell of Harry’s ear, eyes pressed tightly closed and heart screaming out for Harry’s own. 

“I don’t want to be my father.” Harry cried into Peter’s shoulder and it  _ hurt _ how raw it was, how much it seemed to be a phrase Harry had kept so deeply hidden within himself until that moment. He clawed at the small of Peter’s back and hid his face against the smooth neck of the suit and, for once, Peter wished that the suit allowed him to feel  _ more _ rather than less. 

He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to reassure a fear he had seen coming a mile away but  _ still _ didn’t know how to make it go away. “I love you.” He said instead of empty reassurances. “I  _ love you _ .” 

He thought about dragging them inside, somewhere out of the wind and the chill and somewhere he could sit with him until the world was a little less cruel. But the inside wouldn’t be much better - and the thought that Harry had  _ walked through _ the penthouse to get to the roof hadn’t hit him until then and made him pull Harry in tighter. “Let’s go home, Har.” Peter whispered against the side of his face and rubbed warmth into the skin of his back. “Come on, let’s go home.”

“He worked for my father.” Harry didn’t pull away but Peter felt the words echo through the skin of his throat. “Tolliver.” 

Peter didn’t know what to say, even if the words sent something settling into his brain. Tolliver  _ had _ been asking a lot of questions about Harry lately. “We don’t have to talk about this.” 

“He doesn’t exist, Peter. I checked dad’s files. He only worked with one scientist that wasn’t your father and it was this Otto Octavius guy.” 

“We’ll worry about it later, Har.” 

“Peter…  _ please _ . I need you to listen to me.” 

Peter pursed his lips when Harry pulled back, just a little, blue eyes dark with misery and internalized hatred. “Okay.” 

How many times had Harry tried to speak to him and Peter not listened? Guilt shot up his spine even if he knew it was something Harry hadn’t meant to cause. “I think Tolliver is Octavius.” 

“Why would he hide his identity?” 

“My father fired him,” Harry didn’t look away and so Peter didn’t either. “He had invented a brain computer interface - theoretically he could upload a consciousness into a single computer and have that consciousness travel through any electronic device. He started testing on  _ people _ and  _ none _ of them survived.” 

“Your father….” 

“ _ Peter _ , the only person that could survive has to be  _ enhanced _ . Do you know what that means? Peter… he  _ needs _ Spider-Man for his experiment to work.” 


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I call this one - filler chapter extreme

Harry supposed he shouldn’t have been shocked that Harley was up when they got home,  _ or _ that Marco was with him. Peter had outright  _ refused _ to walk out the door of OSCORP like a normal person and Harry understood only about partially. Walking out the door meant walking  _ through  _ the penthouse and well… Harry didn’t really want to go through there himself. It was a clean, organized monument to a family that no longer existed - there were no pictures on the walls, no furniture either. Mary Jane had suggested that Harry rent it - at least make  _ some  _ use to the old home and never have to step foot in it again. He didn’t want to make money off of it, though. His father had spent so long bleeding money out of anyone that he pleased and Harry wasn’t sure he had the stomach to handle that. 

Plus, Harley would need somewhere to live once the company was officially his. 

Regardless, he  _ shouldn’t _ have been surprised that when Peter and him walked through the door of their apartment ( _ thankfully _ Peter had thrown on some sweats over the suit before they even entered the building… which he kept in an alleyway in a  _ backpack _ . Harry seriously needed to train him out of that habit) Harley and Marco were sitting shoulder to shoulder on their little leather couch watching a movie and sharing overly buttered popcorn. They had been dancing around each other for years - Harley had developed the crush first and then Marco had quickly followed suit the first time he had ever been called  _ darlin’  _ in a charming southern drawl. Harry would have been happy for them if they weren’t both so  _ obtuse _ about it. 

Not that he had much ground to stand on himself. He had been in love with Peter since longer than he could remember and had kept  _ that _ a secret until he was seventeen. 

“Harry?” Marco sat up straight when he saw him and Harry  _ knew _ he was taking in a sight he hadn’t seen in years. 

Before Marco there had been Ned and Peter and  _ then _ it had been  _ only _ Marco for close to four years. Marco who broke him out of a shell, took his trust and molded it into a friendship, and been there for the fallout both after and before the trial of his father. Harry had never known a friendship like the one Marco offered - no strings, no judgements, and no need to know  _ everything  _ that had happened in the past. Marco Abreo had been the person to make sure Harry knew he wasn’t alone when he was an ocean, a continent, and a lack of contact away from the world he had grown up in. 

Harry owed him his life. 

Perhaps more than he owed Peter the same thing. “Are you okay?” Marco paid no mind to where Harley had been sunk against his shoulder, stood up abruptly and almost ran to Harry’s side. He had nearly shoved Peter out of the way, put both hands square on Harry’s shoulders and looked into his eyes for a long moment. He took in the red hue to his blue, the deepset frown that Harry still couldn’t shake and the wind whipped hair and switched consciously to French. “Did he hurt you?” He didn’t look at Peter when he spoke but Harry couldn’t stop himself. 

The idea of Peter hurting him was laughable.  _ Peter _ ? His puppy dog of a boyfriend?  _ Hurt _ him? If Peter ever had it was unintentional and he was always quick to apologize. Their fights were normal and boring - Harry never felt  _ afraid _ of Peter Parker. He had never even been afraid of Spider-Man. 

No, he had faced more terrifying things and people his entire life. 

“I’m okay.” Harry squeezed Marco’s elbows and answered in English - the discretion wasn’t needed and, honestly, Harry wasn’t sure he  _ could _ aptly apply it after the day he had experience. 

Marco didn’t believe him - why should he, Harry thought, when Harry had a habit of lying about being okay when he was instead dying on the inside - and the look he shot Peter made it clear who’s fault he was making it. Harley, for his part, stayed out of it other than silently observing the three of them with a furrowed brow. He was putting together the pieces in his mind to bring up later - the Spider-Man suit (badly concealed under a pullover and sweats), the exhausted expression on both their faces, and the stubborn set to Peter’s jaw that only happened when he was thinking up a solution to a problem he barely understood. Harry had thrown a lot onto him in a matter of hours and he still wasn't sure himself if the situation had really settled. 

Tolliver -  _ Octavius _ , his mind corrected - was still out there. He had targeted Harry for a very specific reason  _ other _ than being Norman Osborn’s son. Why  _ wouldn’t _ Norman have experimented on his own child? He had done everything else a terrible father would do. What was stopping him from achieving  _ that _ level of Bad Dad? 

“Marco,” Harry grabbed his friend’s chin and forced his steely gaze back to him. “This is a  _ me _ problem okay, not… not an  _ us _ problem.” He  _ had _ meant for that sentence to be French but it still got it’s point across in English. 

Only it made Peter frown  _ more _ which… hadn’t really been Harry’s intention. Peter’s hand was warm on the small of his back, his arm heavy where it snaked around his waist to pull him in tight and lips cold where they pressed a kiss to the base of his neck. Harry knew from the way he breathed in that it was with closed eyes, head bowed and ears listening to, what Harry hoped was, a steady heartbeat. “What happened?” Harley finally asked, leaning forward on the couch and placing the bowl of popcorn on the table. 

He was looking at Peter but addressing both of them and Harry would have been jealous of the silent conversation that Harley and Peter had if he didn't understand  _ why _ they had it. First and foremost, Marco was  _ Harry’s _ friend. He knew a lot, chalked up even more to the environment Harry had been stuck in, and understood the calculation Harry had made at seventeen by declaring himself Spider-Man. He  _ didn’t _ , however, know that Mysterio hadn’t  _ actually _ been lying when he had revealed Peter as the man under the mask. It wasn’t Harry’s place to tell and it wasn’t Marco’s place to know. 

“I’m gonna go change.” Peter said it low enough that the words brushed over the shell of Harry’s ear and kissed above it before stepping slowly away. 

Harry wasn’t an idiot, he  _ knew _ that Peter was terrified of leaving Harry alone at the moment. He couldn’t exactly blame him - now that he was coming down from the initial panic of lost time he was a little afraid to be alone himself. But Peter was still wearing the Spider suit, he was bound to be freezing, and Marco needed answers to questions he wouldn’t ask with Peter there. And  _ Harley _ needed information Peter couldn’t give with Marco there. 

Splitting up was the only logical solution to the problem at hand. 

That didn’t mean that Harry didn’t feel like he was going to fall apart and collapse into a pile of bones the moment Peter stepped away. 

He didn’t fall but it was a near thing, and Harley made an excuse of forgetting he had to ask Peter something for class before following him. If Marco knew what they were doing he didn’t make any notice of it but, instead, sunk into the reassurances it was granting him. Marco was almost five inches taller than Harry and  _ three _ taller than Peter (yet still shorter than their local southerner by at least four inches) and when he pulled Harry into a hug it was with a gusto Harry hadn’t expected. “You look like you’re falling apart, cher.” Marco said low enough Harry almost missed it and when he squeezed it felt like a breath of fresh air. 

“I  _ feel  _ like I’m falling apart, Mar.” 

They slipped into Harry’s second language naturally, the curves and crevices of the French language a comfort against the tip of Harry’s tongue and offering privacy they normally wouldn’t be granted. Peter had started learning the language purely through exposure - he had been around Harry long enough by then that he could probably hold a passable conversation if he ever needed to. Still, he wasn’t anywhere close to fluent and the practiced speaker tended to talk too fast for someone in the  _ basics _ of learning to understand. “No.” Marco’s large hand pat at his hair before he pulled away and let Harry curl up on the couch. “You’re  _ whole _ , Harry. You’re here.” 

He quirked a lopsided, barely there, smile and pulled the woolen blanket Peter had brought from his apartment with May over his shoulders. It still sort of smelled like the Parker apartment - a little flowery and leathered even after years away from both May and Ben. “My dad keeps calling me.” Harry said it with his eyes closed so that he could avoid the look of utter anger that was sure to be on Marco’s face. 

Marco didn’t have the best relationship with his parents himself - his mother was ridiculously Christian and tried so very hard to fit him into a box he refused to be stuffed into. When he had told her he was gay she had thrown a dramatic fit -  _ that _ had been in their Freshman year at Saint Martin’s.  _ We don’t need them _ , Marco had said desperately gripping Harry’s hands in his own even as he cried himself to sleep,  _ we do not need their approval to exist on this planet. _ “Peter knows this?” 

Harry nodded and sunk further into the cushions, curling in on himself until he was almost balled up completely in the blanket. 

He loved Marco, really he did, but he wanted  _ Peter _ to come back already. “Someone told me,” Harry sidestepped Tolliver’s name. “That I’m the monster my father created-.” 

“No!” Marco interrupted before he could finish, yanked at the blanket and planted his hands square on Harry’s cheeks. “You are  _ not _ a monster, mon cher.  _ Never _ a monster.” 

“Marco-.” 

“Monsters aren’t worried about being monsters, they simply think anyone that is not like them deserves to be destroyed.”

* * *

“Let me get this straight,” Harley spun in Peter’s desk chair as he pulled a shirt over his head and studiously didn’t look at him. “Harry thinks Doctor Tolliver is this Otto Octavius guy?” 

“Yeah.” Peter didn’t really know how else to explain it, his own emotions ran raw from earlier and his mind running in circles when he couldn’t keep Harry in his view. He  _ knew _ he was only two rooms away - he  _ knew _ Marco would fight tooth and nail to keep Harry out of his own mind and away from the thoughts that had caused him harm in the first place. 

Still… Peter knew himself well enough to know that he wouldn’t be relaxed until he was somewhere he could see Harry. Dark hair, blue eyes, freckles and curls. He could reach out his senses and hear the tilt of Harry’s voice as it curled around French syllables and groggily explained something to Marco that Peter  _ knew _ was difficult. He could count Harry’s heartbeats and sync his own to match. Still, he couldn’t  _ relax. _ The rooftop was too raw in mind. Too much a reminder of even though they had come so far things weren’t fixed and perfect. 

They probably never would be. 

It was okay though, Peter thought with a frown. He had long ago thrown out the expectations of  _ perfect _ when it came to his life. He would be happy so long as Harry was in it. “It lines up, I guess.” Harley said with a frown of his own and the crease between his eyebrows while he thought and chewed at the end of a pen that was  _ definitely _ his now. “The guy’s always been  _ weird _ .” 

“That’s putting it nicely.” Peter sighed and dropped onto the bed. No matter how much he wanted to be  _ with  _ Harry at the moment, he owed Harley an explanation. And he owed  _ himself _ a time to think things through. Harry’s hypothesis on Tolliver’s identity wasn’t far fetched - the man had  _ no _ background aside from a few papers and the university grant and he was a little  _ too _ interested in Harry for Peter to be comfortable with. The technology he was working on with Peter did have too many similarities to the work of Octavius and their pictures  _ did _ look alike. 

If he  _ was _ Octavius though, and Harry  _ did  _ have the correct project he was actually working on, then Peter knew he was working under the old assumption that  _ Harry _ was Spider-Man and not Peter. It would have been insulting if there still weren’t a slew of fringe conspiracy theorists that believed that Mysterio was right in his video unmasking of Peter. There were even  _ more _ theories that Harry was the masked vigilante but had the money and resources to hide such a thing. 

He  _ had _ been quickly adopted by Pepper Stark, anyway. And  _ everyone _ knew who her husband had been and the sorts of people he had chosen to associate with. Up to and  _ including _ Spider-Man. 

To draw the conclusion wasn’t far off. Norman  _ could _ have experimented on his own son - and the abuse trial only fueled those that believed Harry was Spider-Man more. Why else would Norman beat his own child to the point of near death other than him unmasking himself on live television to save his boyfriend? It was a little disturbing how close they were to the truth, and even  _ worse _ how much they chose to pry into their personal life. It had been years and Peter had grown used to many things - up to and including Pepper’s sound advice to  _ not google himself _ \- but the  _ way _ they spoke about Harry and Norman’s relationship wasn’t one of them. Peter hated Norman Osborn with a passion that sometimes shocked himself - Norman had nearly destroyed Harry and he would have done the same to Peter without a second thought - but Norman’s problem was a  _ psychosis _ and not a failed science experiment. As far as Peter knew, anyway. It wasn’t an excuse and Peter would  _ never _ look the man in the face and do anything other than punch him but, as a scientist, Peter  _ had _ to acknowledge that someone didn’t simply  _ split _ into a different  _ character _ without reason. 

“Do you have a copy of his research?” Harley was a great friend to have - he reminded Peter a little too strongly of Tony sometimes. He was closer to Peter than he would ever be to Harry - they shared a loss together that neither of them had been given enough time to mourn over - but he respected the both of them with a fierce need to protect that Peter hadn’t expected out of him. He was clever, smart, and stupidly funny. All heart and no problems with showing it to the world. He fell fast and hard but he knew when to back off. Peter hadn’t known him for too long but he would safely consider Harley the closest thing he had been given to a brother. 

“Harry does.” Peter had seen the flashdrive Harry had been holding slip into his jean pocket back on the rooftop. 

Harley nodded, slow and deliberate and stared at the wall. “You okay?” 

Peter sighed, long and low and tried to fight back the sudden urge to start screaming at the ceiling.  _ Yeah _ , he wanted to say. “I thought he was going to jump off.” He said instead and his breath caught when he realized the truth of his own words. His chest hitched and he was crying before he could stop himself - soft and ugly things - and Harley wasn’t a hugger (not like Peter was) but he still pushed himself onto the bed beside Peter’s quivering shoulders and pulled him in close to his side. 

“He’s okay.” But it sounded like a trivial promise because, to Peter, it was painfully obvious how  _ not _ okay Harry was. Yes he was whole and alive and breathing but he was also so undeniably scared that Peter didn’t know what he was going to do next. He knew Harry hadn’t meant for the fear that he had instilled in Peter but the fear had still been there. Harry had never seen himself as someone worth saving and  _ that _ was something that Peter had been trying for years to train him out of. “ _ You’re _ okay.” 

If he let himself he would cry for hours - for the person the world had let down, for the shit cards he had been dealt in life, for the weight the word  _ hero _ placed on his shoulders - but, instead, he wiped under his eyes and resolved to fix the problem he could fix first. Harry felt unsafe and Peter could, at the least, give him something to protect himself with. And then he would take out Tolliver - Octavius,  _ whoever  _ he was - and, maybe, his next step would be punching Norman Osborn one more time and making it  _ count _ . 

Peter wasn’t sure what was worse - his anger or his fear. 

Heaven help whoever was on the receiving end of it. 


End file.
